The boy nervously paced the border, the leaders wife tucked away safely, sedated for her own damn good. How he'd managed to wheedle her into coming this far was anyone's guess, but he supposed he had at least a few hours up his arm to right some wrongs. This time, he was careful not to cross the clearly established border. He had a hide wrapped carefully around the herbs he had prepared as a peace offering and he set the parcel gently on the ground before tipping his head back to call for the leader here.

He swallowed heavily, and tried to convince his fur to sit flat. That didn't stop him looking like a static laden hairball though, all puffed up with barely contained panic.

“Speech”

Perhaps he's more on edge than usual. The impending birth of his wife's first litter. The kidnapping of his adoptive daughter. The woman that had shown up on his doorstep, broken, in such a way that only the gods had put her there? Víðarr was emotionally raw, volatile. Unsure of exactly what to think, what to feel, but... fuck. Fuck, he still has a job to do. His head noisy, the weight of it heavy around his chest. Yes, the task at hand.

He can smell the trespasser on the shifting breeze around the same time as the call comes. Familiar, but he doesn't place it until staring down the barrel of the puffed up, brown, scrawny thing. Víðarr fixed him with a curious stare, approaching at a light jog. In no way concealing his approach, but waiting an uncomfortably long time before speaking. No, it's not until he comes to a stop and looks the boy up and down for a moment. A deep furrow in his brows, viewing the panicked creature.

"Fishboy?" When he finally speaks, it's not altogether unkind. If he was about to be more of a dad, maybe he's everyone's dad.

"Víðarr"

The greeting throws him for a loop. Fishboy? It was enough to bring his fur down flat, blue eyes almost wide enough to see the whites, ears half turned out to the side in surprise. His tail wagged low between his hocks and his spine curved to make his already diminutive size smaller. “I-uh... Sakana, yes...” He blinked. This wasn't going how he expected at all, there were decidedly less teeth.

Giving himself a shake to chase the tension from his bones, his head still drooped to hang level with his spine, “I-uh, bought a gift of herbs from the west, by way of apology for my earlier transgression.” he nudged the bag a bit closer. Rules said if he bought a pack down on his head it'd be his to deal with alone and he had no desire to do that. “I-uh... Sorry, again.” He wasn't quite sure where to go from here. He hadn't thought this far ahead.

“Speech”

The brown wolf before him attempted to make himself look even smaller. Víðarr rose to his full height in return, standing a bit straighter than he maybe otherwise would have. His gaze was intense, but not cold. Watching. Waiting. Sakana, right, he'd only held onto what Erik had called the boy. A fixed stare, but a curious one. He had guts, showing up, offering an apology. In all honesty, he'd mostly forgotten about the transgression.

Taking a step towards the bag, Víðarr inspects it curiously. He would have one of his healers inspect it later. Even if it was something meant to harm them, it would be a useful training aid. The viking king knows fuckall about herbs, but he would show respect where respect had been given. "Consider it forgiven." The words come easily. It didn't seem Sakana had come on behalf of an alpha... he would have already said as much. There's more he wants to say, though Víðarr struggles to put it into words.

Clearing his throat loudly so the boy doesn't think he's off the hook, the viking king continues to watch him while he gathers the words. When he finally does speak, a question. "What is the real reason you are drawn here?"

"Víðarr"